


I love everybody (because I loved you)

by sassy_ninja



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: 3+1 Things, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:10:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassy_ninja/pseuds/sassy_ninja
Summary: Marius and Courfeyrac are friends, but to be truly honest he is not sure why. Marius is boring and nervous, whilst Courfeyrac is charming and funny, still Courfeyrac comes to Marius' rooms every Wednesday at a little after ten o'clock to take him to lunch and everything else spirals from there.orthree times Marius didn't realise he was in love with Courfeyrac and one time he did
Relationships: Courfeyrac/Marius Pontmercy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	I love everybody (because I loved you)

**Author's Note:**

> ohoho I have deadlines coming up which means its time to make everybody sad! I wrote this pretty quickly and ik this trend is dead but oh well! pls pls pls read the tags! there is brief suicidal ideation so pls be careful! it's just the paragraph that starts with 'He stares out into the fog' if that's triggering just skip that paragraph! 
> 
> title is taken from strawberry blond by Mitski

**1.**

Courfeyrac has somehow managed to procure a spare key to Marius’ lodgings. To be fair it’s quite easy to see how he got it, the landlady is easily flustered even by Marius’ standards and Courfeyrac is a ridiculous flirt. Still, Marius would have preferred if he didn’t use the spare key to burst into Marius’ rooms every Wednesday morning insisting on taking him to lunch. He’s a little more used to it now, after three long months, he wakes at a little before ten so that he can get ready in time.

Today is no different from the rest, Courfeyrac sweeps into his room with all the force of a small tornado, already talking at full volume. Marius is mostly dressed, and he smiles a little as Courfeyrac complains about his poor fashion and dusty hat.

“Well, Marius – are you ready yet?” Courfeyrac always speaks like he’s addressing a room full of people, even though it’s just the two of them.

He just nods in return and Courfeyrac grins at him in delight. To be honest he is not too sure why Courfeyrac decided one day that he would become Marius’ friend. He is well aware that he’s very awkward and a little boring. He couldn’t be more different from his other friends who are all charming and handsome and talk about terrifyingly revolutionary things, but always stop politely when Marius enters the room.

He is grateful though, for their friendship and not only because Courfeyrac’s lunches are sometimes his only hot meal of the week. He is charming and funny, and he does manage to make Marius laugh even though he also manages to make Marius confused and angry and disorientated as well. It is rather confusing, he thinks, but he appreciates it, nonetheless.

**2.**

There is blood everywhere. On his clothes, on the ground, on the walls, it feels like somehow even when he breathes the air tastes like blood as well. Or maybe that’s just because his throat has been rubbed raw by the shouting.

When he stumbles over something and looks down, he blanches. It’s a body, the body of one of Courfeyrac’s friends, someone Marius had just started his own tentative friendship with. He remembers his name, the way he pounded on Marius’ back when they dragged him out drinking and laughed at him for never dancing. Bahorel. That was his name. He bows his head briefly, but there is no time to do more than that.

He sees Courfeyrac standing on the barricade, gun in hand, he fires down and there is a cheer as he hits his shot and hands back the gun to be reloaded. It is strange seeing him here, standing like a military man with gunpowder smeared over his hands. Those hands are for dancing with pretty girls and flicking through law textbooks and ruffling Marius’ hair, not for shooting and killing and reloading guns.

“It seems I’ve lost another hat,” he shouts joyously over the din, “I did so dearly want to keep that one, it’s my second one this month.”

It’s enough to send a ripple of laughter over the barricade, if Courfeyrac has not yet lost his humour then things are not as strange as they feel. Bossuet and Joly slap him on the back and swap some more witticisms that Marius cannot quite hear. Even Enjolras smiles, brief and bright.

“Here,” Marius says, handing more cartridges up the barricade and Courfeyrac turns and smiles at him once more. It is warm like the evening air and Marius cannot help but smile back.

**3.**

He still wakes up a little before ten every Wednesday, stumbles out of bed and starts pulling on his clothes before his sleep addled mind catches up and reminds him that Courfeyrac is not coming to take him to lunch. Courfeyrac is dead. He finishes getting dressed anyways, quietly so as not to wake Cosette.

She’s dreadfully understanding, so much more understanding than Marius thought anyone could be. She doesn’t mind that he screams in his sleep and sometimes he gets angry for no reason and when she tried to get him to go out hunting just the sight of a gun sent him running back inside, crying. It is the same make and model that they used, he tries to explain a few hours later. There is nothing more that can be said.

So, on Wednesday mornings he walks. Today it is wet and foggy, the dew from the grass soaking up the hem of his trousers and he wonders if Courfeyrac would approve of his new clothes. He would probably laugh and call him bourgeoisie and he would be right.

He stares out into the fog, if he looks hard enough then he can almost see the outline of his friends standing in the distance, almost as if they are waiting for him. He should not have lived while they died, he should be in the fog with them.

He thinks that Courfeyrac would scold him for thinking like that, would cuff him on the back of the head and tell him that he is thinking his ridiculous fanciful thoughts again and that he should leave the Romantic daydreaming to Jehan.

He shakes his head forcefully, trying to get his thoughts to be quiet for just a moment. Everything is too loud even in the silence of the early morning.

“I miss you,” he says, wretched, alone, “why did you have to leave me?”

He does not know who he is talking to, but he does know that he has not laughed in that way for three months now. That startled way where he doesn’t have the time to think about appearances and how many teeth he’s showing, where he doesn’t laugh in the way his tutor taught him. It is lonely.

He goes back to the house and by now Cosette has already awoken, but she does not question why his eyes are red and his hands are shaking again. She just pulls him into her arms and he still feels so dreadfully alone.

**+1**

“Papa, papa,” his children are too excitable at this age, but he still smiles fondly even though he is tired. Their maid has despaired of trying to put them to bed and gave him a very grateful smile when he offered to step in and try.

“Will you tell us a story?” his youngest asks, a little boy with the brightest eyes Marius has ever seen.

“No that’s boring,” his middle daughter groans, rolling around on the floor, “we’ve read all the books before, tell us something different, Papa.”

“What do you want to hear then?” he asks, picking her up quickly before she can react and dumping her on the bed. She squeals excitedly, but obligingly wriggles under the covers when he gives her the sternest look he can muster. It’s not very stern to be fair, he is far too soft on them for that.

“Have you ever been in love?” his eldest asks, already having tucked herself in. She’s at that age where she’s started to read romance novels already, it’s a question that she’s been pestering every adult she meets with.

“Apart from with mama,” his middle daughter chimes in and his eldest huffs a quiet ‘of course’ with a roll of her eyes.

“Ah only once before I met your mother,” he says and the three of them look at him with rapt eyes, “it is long in the past now.”

“What was her name?” his eldest asks and he replies before he can really think it through.

“Courfeyrac,” he says softly. It has been many years since he thought of him with his kind eyes and his warm hands and his laughter that always startled Marius so. The first time he has ever thought that it could have been love. It is not natural, it is not right, but it is so undeniably true.

“Papa are you alright?” his eldest asks, tentatively, “we didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, it is quite alright,” he says, voice tight. He wipes at his face and it is wet, “I don’t think we should tell that story tonight.”

“Will you read for us then?” his son asks and he nods, taking the book from his outstretched hands.

That is in the past now, so many years in the past, but somehow his chest still aches at the thought of him. Of Courfeyrac. He closes his eyes as he leaves their room, all three of them fast asleep and he clenches his fist tightly against his chest. It is a Wednesday, he realises dully, and even thirteen years on he still wakes at just a little before ten.

**Author's Note:**

> ah its sad :( I hope u enjoyed anyways! if u did pls leave a kudo and a comment!


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